


In Its Absence

by atothej



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25368988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atothej/pseuds/atothej
Summary: Just another day in the workshop, hanging around while Tony pokes at Bucky's arm trying to make it work right again. Nothing heartbreaking about that.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	In Its Absence

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr as a prompt fill.
> 
> **Anonymous** : _"I need you to touch me."_

Clint’s only down here under the vague guise of moral support. Honestly, his presence in the workshop is probably only putting Steve at ease more than it’s helping Bucky any, but he hasn’t gotten all squirrelly with Clint hovering in the background like he had when Steve had been down here before for Bucky’s arm maintenance sessions, so here Clint remains.

(It’s not like Steve’s actually stopped hovering anyway. Just now he does it in the elevator that serves as the main access to Tony’s workshop, threatening JARVIS into leaving it stationary while he paces in the small confines restlessly. Everyone else frequenting the communal floors of the Tower has long since stopped bothering with the north elevator bank whenever Bucky’s scheduled for an appointment down here for exactly that reason.)

A sudden clatter draws Clint’s attention away from Tony’s Wall of Armors, but not in any kind of panicky way. Clatters and kerfuffles and kabooms are just things one has to get used to when down in the workshop, or else their blood pressure’s likely to rise sky high–-hence why Bruce never frequents the place.

So Clint turns, a nice easy pivot on his heel, hands tucked loosely in the gaping pocket of his hoodie, and looks curiously over to the chair and table Tony’s modified for these so-called check ups.

Bucky’s still and blank-faced from what Clint can see of him at this angle, but that’s nothing new. He always seems to just shut down whenever it comes to anything too focused on his arm. Clint’s tried to distract him out of it before, but he’s only ever garnered a pissy glare for all his efforts, so he’s given up the ghost on that and just lets Bucky cope however he needs to and hangs around until he’s back.

Tony, though.

Tony’s got his hands up in front of his chest, open and facing out, a screwdriver hanging loose in the cradle made by his thumb. He’s got goggles on that block his eyes from view, but his mouth is all turned down in a fierce frown and his posture’s gone unsure in that way it really only does when Steve’s mad at him all of a sudden and he doesn’t know why.

“Barnes?” Tony asks hesitantly, swaying back like he wants to step away but doesn’t want to make the kind of sudden movement that might startle the Soldier into action.

Clint darts forward, though, aiming for that sliver of space between them so he can get right up in Bucky’s face because who needs self-preservation instincts? Certainly not him when Bucky’s on the other end of it.

(Clint’s like, 90% positive there aren’t any legit triggers left in Bucky’s brain to activate and send him on a Winter Soldier spree, but Bucky doesn’t share his level of confidence, and that’s fine. Clint’s all too aware of how easy it is to not trust yourself despite all logic to the contrary.)

“Bucky?” Clint’s close enough now he can see the stream of tears falling out of the corners of Bucky’s eyes as he stares dead ahead without seeing anything. Did Tony hit a nerve maybe? Not like in the metaphorical sense, but like in the real sense because he’s been all up in Bucky’s synapses of late and who the hell knows how futzed up those Nazi shitsticks left it all?

Clint’s hands hover uselessly in the air around Bucky’s head, then over his shoulders, then by his chest–-a pat down with no patting down. “Babe, you okay?”

Bucky’s jaw unhinges and hangs there, like he’s not actually in control of it, which is a terrifying thought.

Behind him, Tony scoots back then around to a bay of transparent monitors, bringing up more and more screens, until one flashes up behind Bucky’s head, right in Clint’s line of sight, and–

It’s Bucky’s brain, real-time, all lit up technicolor in different centers, but Clint doesn’t know what any of that _futzing means, Tony._

“I…” Bucky’s voice breaks like a wave on rocks, scattering all across the hidden nooks and crannies of the workshop.

“You’re in the Tower, babe,” Clint says, his words all running together as he tries to say everything relevant all at once. “Manhattan, 2017. It’s just you and me and Tony. No threats here. How can I help? What d’ya need?”

Bucky’s eyes close, and a new surge of tears drip free of his lashes. “I need you to touch me,” he rasps out, scratchy and patchy like when he’s dragging his mouth over Clint’s uneven beard, but there’s a well of too-deep heartache under it all that’s gutting Clint.

With a strangled whine, Clint’s hands close in those couple inches to cup Bucky’s face. It feels like he’s gone miles, though, relief washing over him so fast and harsh he rocks forward with it to rest his forehead against Bucky’s, crooning softly, “Hey, you’re okay. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

“Am I?” Bucky asks on a gasp, his eyes squeezing shut all the tighter.

“What?”

“Am I here?” Bucky’s voice is soft, but in the way voices get when there’s no air to back them up. “Am I…real?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Clint replies emphatically. “You’re here with me. It’s not a dream. Not a hallucination. This is a hundred percent reality. You and me, right here, together.”

“You’re sure,” Bucky demands desperately, his lashes blinking apart wetly to reveal blurry, unfocussed eyes.

“Abso-positively-lutely.“

Bucky’s eyes track back to him then, and there’s that spark of exasperation in them he gets when Clint’s trying that touch too hard to act the fool, that spark of _Bucky_.

He gazes up at Clint, simultaneously centimeters and galaxies away, and admits lowly, "I can’t feel it.”

Worried for a whole host of new reasons now, Clint tries to pull back to get Tony back over here, but Bucky doesn’t let him, keeps him right there tucked close against him.

“Not like–-I can feel it, but…it doesn’t hurt.” The overhead lights catch on the tears clumped in his too-pretty lashes, and his eyes are full of so much shock and bewilderment that it rips Clint’s heart wide open and he clutches onto Bucky right back. “It’s never not hurt.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at [promptmewinterhawk](http://promptmewinterhawk.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
